Morbid Curiosity
by amaretto and coke
Summary: Trying to help salvage Betty's feelings after Archie ditches her yet again, Jughead offers to escort her to the prom. But when push comes to shove, will the renowned womanhater keep his promise?
1. How it begins

Another day at Riverdale High was at a close, and the students ran joyfully through the halls in pursuit of each other and their freedom. Boys strutted like peacocks, looking for dates, and girls showed admiration, disguised as scorn. The rituals, as primitive as they were, never lost their level of charm.

Elizabeth Cooper, popularly known as Betty, went straight to her locker after the last class of the day. Geography. The lay of the land. She didn't actually like that class, but she was definitely one of the best students, primarily because she took the time to do her homework. For this, a few of her classmates had jokingly labeled her as a 'nerd.' She supposed that it didn't bother her, because she was pretty and popular and well liked by nearly everyone. Her character was open and honest, and her personality was genuinely winning. It was well nigh impossible to hold a grudge against Betty Cooper, because she was just so darn sweet.

A ready and eager partner for nearly any sporting event, she was equally as popular with the athletes as she was with the studious. Having put herself in such a position to almost never be dateless, she often found herself at a loss to comprehend her impossible conquest: Archie Andrews. He was tantalizingly near, and yet so very, very far out of reach. He seemed to regard her as a good friend, a study buddy, very encouraging…in short, a girlfriend in deed, though not in name.

By contrast, her closest friend, Veronica Lodge, was cold, calculating, crafty, and excruciatingly beautiful. Although she was about as bright as a box full of rocks and nearly as kind, she had nearly every guy in school ready to do her bidding at a moment's notice, and she thoroughly enjoyed it. And how Betty had ended up with such a shark for a friend, she could never understand. 

A familiar voice echoed through the halls behind her, but instead of looking up, she lowered her head. But the voice drew steadily nearer as opposed to passing by. "Betty Cooper, what are you doing with your head stuck in your locker?"

Disgruntled, she turned to face her best friend and top rival. "Ron, not now."

"I don't see why not," Veronica Lodge said in the same obnoxious tone of voice. "After all, if my best friend is going to walk around acting like a complete drag, shouldn't I care enough to find out why?"

"Fine!" Betty slammed the locker door shut to accentuate her point. "You want to know why? Because I asked Archie to the school dance fifteen days – that's half a month, mind you – ago, and today he tells me that he had something come up at the last minute and he can't go with me anymore!"

Veronica cocked her head while standing in a highly staged pose. Although, Betty admitted to herself reluctantly, it flattered the black-haired girl's figure inestimably. "So…basically, you're mad because your plans with Archie didn't work out. Don't you think that's just a bit selfish of you?"

Hearing such a contrived speech only served to add insult to injury, and Betty backed away, though she wanted ever so badly to slap that smug smile off the other girl's pretty face. "Sure, it's selfish of me. About as selfish as it was of you to ask Archie to the dance this morning, and pretend this afternoon that you don't know why I'm upset!"

Unconcerned, Veronica studied her nails. "Oh, is that why you're mad? Don't worry, sweetie, there'll be other dances," – and with that she laughed lightly and walked off.

Betty swallowed hard around the lump that had risen in her throat. "Yeah, there'll be other dances, and other chances for me to get my heart broken in a hundred pieces." A sob nearly escaped, but she managed to choke it down and only two wet stains on her cheeks gave any evidence that she was anything other than Betty Cooper, happy teenager and perfect student.

~~~~*~~~~

Jughead Jones sat outside of Riverdale High on a bench, nursing forty ounces of soda. Food comforted him in a way that almost nothing else could, and fortunately he was blessed with genetics that protected him from the more undesirable side of the relationship. He took a long swallow and sighed, happy. 

A soft _plop_ on the bench next to him made him look up, startled. By the sound of the body, it just had to be a girl. He prepared himself to bolt, but looked into a set of light blue eyes and settled back down. "Betty! What's up?" Then he _really_ looked at her and his voice came out more surprised. "Betty, what's happened?"

She shook her head, mute. Jughead bit his lip; he knew exactly what was wrong. But he didn't like saying it all the same. "It's them again, isn't it?"

She nodded; he scowled and sighed, this time annoyed. "You know, he _is _my best friend, but some days I just can't stand him."

"I feel the same about her, more and more lately," she said in a tremulous voice.

They sat in silence, punctuated only by Jughead's occasional sips. When Betty spoke again, her voice was steady, but sad. "Jug, I don't know what to do about it anymore. I can't go on forever carrying a torch for someone who doesn't love me. And I _don't_ want to go on forever letting someone who's supposed to be my best friend take advantage of both me and the man I love. What should I do? Talk to him, talk to her, or just give up on both of them?"

Jughead sat up straight, set the soda down, and thought for a few moments before speaking. "I don't want to say _give up,_ because we all make mistakes. All the time. But Betty," here his voice came more tenderly than she had ever heard it, "_you've_ got to think about yourself at least once in a while. Think about the way you feel when he throws your heart aside to chase after someone who just sees him as a game. Think about the way you feel when your best friend, who knows you inside and out, treats you like a second-class citizen on a whim. Think about how much they've hurt you, and decide whether or not you intend to take it any more. If they're worth the pain, then go home and cry for a while, and get up and brush it off and keep on keepin' on. But if you're really as tired as you think you are –" his voice rose slightly, " – then stand up for once and tell them both, 'No more'. When he comes to you after she's put him out, tell him that you're sorry, and then send him right back to her. When she calls you up after seeing him kiss another girl, tell her that you're sorry, and that you hope they make up soon. But why should you leave yourself open to continual abuse by two inconsiderate people in the name of friendship?"

Betty looked surprised. Jughead licked his lips, quickly, and sat back again. It would have been difficult to tell by looking at him, but his heart was pounding like a jackhammer. _What the hell did I just say? Who am I to give _anyone _relationship advice? I hope I didn't sound too much like an informercial._

She smiled, a mere ghost of her usual beam. "Juggie, that was…really profound." She reached for her bag, getting ready to leave, and froze.

Archie and Veronica were coming their way, laughing merrily. Betty stiffened visibly, and despite her best intentions, her pale blue eyes filled with tears once again. Neither of the happy couple had noticed her yet.

Anxious to keep his hard work from going down the drain, Jughead made a hard decision, one that would dwell on his mind for many days. He reached out and took Betty's hand, causing her to gasp with surprise and stare at him. So when Archie looked up at the noise, he also gasped and came to a dead stop, jerking Veronica to a stop with him. And they both stared at Jughead Jones, renowned woman-hater, holding the hand of Betty Cooper, whose cheeks were flushed.

Veronica recovered herself first, and said disdainfully, "Wow, Betty, I didn't know you were _this_ desperate. Maybe I'll let you go to the dance with Archie after all."

Betty's face turned slightly redder, but she felt the reassuring pressure of Jughead's hand around hers and something inside of her stood strong in the face of derision. 

Archie looked stung. "What -?"

Jughead cleared his throat. "You don't have to let Betty do _anything,_ Veronica. I just asked her to the dance, so I guess you'll have to keep your date." He scooted just a little closer to Betty. Not enough to be intimate, but enough to get his point across.

It was Veronica's turn to flush. "You? You misogynistic jerk, _you?"_ She turned to Betty, who sat motionless. "For goodness' sake, girl, have some pride!"

Betty finally stood. "I've _got_ pride. Enough to tell you that I'm through with being treated like dirt! And I'm not going to ever let you 'give' Archie to me again. Keep your date, Ronnie." She grabbed up her neglected books and walked home in the other direction without so much as a backward glance.

"_Wow,"_ Ronnie said coolly. "Poor girl. I never thought she'd go this crazy." She turned to look at Archie, who stood glaring at her. "What?"

"' I'll _let_ you go to the dance with Archie?' What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean? Do you think that I'm just a toy for you to play around with? What makes you think that you can just give me away when you want to?"

She yawned. "Because you _let _me, silly boy. Not once have you ever proved me wrong. So get over yourself and walk me home." She began to walk away, but turned back when she realized that Archie had yet to move. She sighed and tapped her foot impatiently. "What? Are you supposed to be _angry_ with me now?"

"You know what," he answered nastily, jabbing a finger at her, "you are most likely the most selfish person I have ever met."

She waved her hand dismissively as she walked away. "Well, when you decide to stop acting silly, call me."

He snorted angrily and kicked a rock. "I'm not sure I'll _ever_ call her again." He plopped down on the vacated bench. "Why is she like that? I don't think that I'll ever understand women." He looked at his friend, who had gone back to gulping soda. "And by the way, what were you and Betty doing?"

Jughead shrugged carelessly. "We were discussing the fact that she doesn't like being treated like dirt by her best friend and someone that she was supposed to be going to the prom with."

Archie reddened. "I know that I was supposed to go with her, Jug."

"Then why aren't you going with her?"

Shamefaced, the redheaded boy tried to explain. "It's weird…I care so much about her. Like, if she was hurting, or upset, I'd be right there. But try as I might, I just can't think about her as a _girl._ It feels like she's one of the guys so much that when she wants to go on dates or be cute or whatever, I just…can't."

"I see." Jughead finished the soda and tossed it expertly into a nearby trash can. "So you use her, because you're cowardly."

"What?"

"Archie, come on." His friend stared at him flatly. "You know full well how Betty feels about you, and you take advantage of her time and again. And as soon as Veronica snaps her fingers, you run, leaving Betty behind to cry. You're using her, no matter how you want to put it."

Archie sat there, digesting for a moment. The candidly put message seemed to be getting through, until his face clouded over with anger and he stood. "Geez, when did _you_ turn into 'Dear Abby'?"

Jughead also stood, unfazed. "When my best friend started turning into a first-class jerk."

"You've got some nerve, talking about jerks…! All this time, you've pretended to hate women, just so you can hit on them behind my back? You know what, you can keep your stupid advice. We're not friends anymore." He stomped off.

The slimmer boy sighed. "Man. Three friendships ruined in one day. It's gotta be some kind of record."

~~~~*~~~~ 

As soon as he got home, Jughead did something completely unprecedented. He called Ethel Muggs, affectionately known throughout campus as 'Big Ethel' due to her rather overwhelming size. And not surprisingly, her voice sounded rather eager when she answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Ah, hello." He wondered if he was making a huge mistake, but went ahead. "Ethel, this is Jughead."

_"Forsythe?"_ She screeched his name in so grating a pitch that he instantly moved the receiver eighteen inches from his head. "Oh, my god! I can't believe it! Did you –" her voice dropped in a vain effort to gain composure "- call to invite me to the big dance?"

"Uh, no. Believe it or not, I actually need some relationship advice concerning one of your friends."

There was silence for several moments before she spoke again. Her voice was much cooler now. "Really."

"Yes, really."

"Who?" Her voice had picked up a tone of skepticism. "Who's the lucky girl who stole Forsythe P. Jones' heart away?"

He wished that he had called anyone, even Veronica, other than Ethel at this point. "It's about Betty, Ethel."

"Betty Cooper?"

"Yes."

Once again, there was silence. He cringed.

When she finally did speak, he heaved a silent sigh of relief. Although she didn't sound thrilled, she wasn't _mad._ "Betty, Jug? She doesn't seem like your type."

"I guess not."

"Why her? Why not me?" The volume was beginning to rise again, and he flinched. "Ethel, think for a minute. Would you rather be with a popular guy who couldn't care less about you, an unpopular guy who just isn't looking to be your boyfriend, or an unpopular guy who worships the ground you walk on and would be thrilled to escort you to this dance?"

She gulped, and he knew that she had fully grasped his meaning. Despite warnings from her friends, she was beginning to fall very hard very fast for a cute guy in her chemistry class. And upon being greeted with, "Hey, babe, if you ever need a favor, just ask," upon helping him receive a grade that he would not otherwise have merited, several of her friends had voiced their concern that she was headed for an emotional shipwreck. Not to mention one hell of a bruised ego. 

It was a moment before she spoke again. "I guess…you're the unpopular one who just doesn't like me, huh?"

"I'm sorry. I don't feel the same, and I'd rather hurt you honestly. But look…there's a guy around who thinks you're just the best, and I'm sure he's going to ask you to the dance in just a few days. Hold out for him, why dontcha?"

"All right," she said slowly. "Hey, how do you know about all of this?"

"I've got my ways," he answered.

She snorted, and he breathed more easily, knowing this battle was won. "Hang in there, Ethel. Good night."

"Wait! Didn't you want to ask me –"

He hung up, not hearing her last protestation. _I don't think that there was anything that _she_ could have said to make me feel better about tricking someone into a date, anyway. _

The phone had not been on the hook for long when it rang. Jughead's mother answered it, as her son was preoccupied with raiding the refrigerator. She covered the receiver before calling him. "Sweetie? It's Betty Cooper."

Surprised, the young man instantly put all of the food down on the counter. "I'll pick up in my room."

He ran up the stairs at a slightly faster than normal pace, reached his room and shut the door quietly, not forgetting to lock it. He picked up the phone and taking a deep breath, hit the 'talk' button. "Hello?"

"Juggie?"

"Yeah." His heart knocked hard against his ribs, as it had never done before upon getting a call from this particular person. "Hey, Betty."

She sounded hesitant as well. "So, um…how are you?"

"About as well as you'd be if you had tried to help a friend, and instead, made three different people all mutually upset with each other." He sighed and ran a damp hand through his hair. Why was he sweating, for heaven's sake? "Arch and Veronica are on the outs, and he doesn't want to be my friend anymore anyway."

"Oh, Jug. I'm so sorry." A pause. "If it's my fault, I truly apologize."

"If it could be your fault for being human enough to dislike unjust treatment, and human enough to want to tell someone else about it, you are completely forgiven. Besides, it's hardly your fault. He's got the mistaken impression that I only act like I hate women so I can secretly hit on them behind his back."

"Ah, yes, he is so _very_ mistaken," Betty said in a sarcastic voice. "I wonder what he'll say when he sees your 'smooth operator' routine?" They both laughed for a while before quieting again, and then Betty continued. "But I don't want to forget what I actually called about. What was that about asking me to the prom, Jug?"

"Oh, _that…_" He couldn't think of anything to justify himself, so he attempted to let it slide. "Oh, I just meant…that you and I…oh, hell. Betty, listen. I was just trying to help you save your dignity. But we don't have to go through with it."

"You don't want to go with me?" Her voice was almost sad, he thought. "I know that you don't like dances, and I know that you don't like to hang out with girls, so I can't say that I'm surprised. But still…"

"Betty, no! I…I…I do. I just…"

There was embarrassed laughter on the other line. "We've still got ten days, don't we? I guess we can decide in between now and then, right?"

"Sure." he said, a smile creeping onto his face. This was going a lot easier than he had initially expected. After all, surely Betty would find another date in a week and a half…

"…and I suppose if we mutually decide, we can just…go together, right?"

"Right," he answered slowly. _Oh, man, I was hoping she wouldn't catch that._

There was a smile in her tone as she spoke. "Thanks, Juggie. Some days you really are my best friend." 

"Uh, thank you," he stammered, not knowing what else he could say. She hung up, and so did he, appetite suddenly gone.

His mother's voice rudely interrupted his reverie.

"Forsythe Pendleton Jones! Get down here right now and explain what you were doing with all of this food!"


	2. Boys

Mary Andrews was in the den of her house hemming her husband's pants when her son came in with a look on his face usually reserved for a lost sporting event. She knew from bitter experience that it would take at least fifteen minutes for him to calm down enough to talk, and so she tried to ignore the stomping feet and the slamming door and focused on the seams in front of her.

"Good heavens! Is there an elephant in here?" Fred Andrews emerged from the garage and stared at the ceiling with his pipe in his hand. "What's gotten into that boy?"

"Not sure," his wife admitted. "He looks pretty upset about something. I didn't want to ask."

"Well, _I'll_ ask," Fred said. "I'd like to keep the ceiling intact."

~~~~~*~~~~~ 

Archie was lying face down on his bed when his father knocked on the door. He mumbled, "Come in," but his voice was muffled and Mr. Andrews didn't hear. A second knock made him irrationally angry and he yelled, "Come in, I said!"

His father did come in, with a look of displeasure on his rounded face. "Young man, don't yell at me again. I want you to sit up right now and explain to me why you're throwing a temper tantrum at your age."

"You would be too, if two of your best friends just decided to ditch you on the same day."

Mr. Andrews sighed, filled his pipe and lit it. "Maybe you'd better start from the beginning."

So Archie did, and to his credit, he didn't leave out anything, even parts that put him in a bad light. His father, also much to his credit, did not interrupt once. Finally, Archie finished, "…so now Betty doesn't want anything to do with me, and Jughead and I aren't friends anymore."

Mr. Andrews took a long drag from the pipe before speaking. "Is that a mutual decision, or are you mad with Jughead?"

"I – I guess I'm just mad at him," his son admitted. "But really, Dad, it doesn't make any sense. He's claimed all his life that he doesn't like girls. Why would he suddenly be so interested in Betty if he wasn't trying to get back at me somehow?"

"But you told me that the whole reason he asked Betty out was because you weren't going with her anymore. So how is he 'getting back at _you'_? It sounds more like he was just trying to be nice to _her._"

He waited, but his son was not inclined to answer immediately, and so he continued:

"Archie, I personally don't think that you've been very fair. If a young lady were to make an engagement with me over a month before an event, and I changed my mind and wanted to go with someone else later, I could hardly be angry with someone else for asking the first girl out."

"Even if that someone was your best friend?"

"You kind of lose the right to be upset when you're inconsiderate, son. Besides, this is just a dance. How do you expect to spend your time after this dance is over if you get rid of all your friends now?"

"Dad, I really don't think they _are_ my friends," Archie protested. "Friends don't do things like this."

"But Archie," – his mother's voice surprised them both, as she had come up and been listening silently in the hall – "what you've done to Betty is the same thing that you do all the time, and Jughead was right to tell you so. You know that she loves you, and you use her. And you like Veronica, but when you go out with Betty, you pit the two of them against each other. How are they supposed to keep being friends when they're always fighting over you and you manipulate them both?"

"Your mother's right." Mr. Andrews stood and turned to go. "I think that if you really look at the situation, you'll find that you're more upset about Betty giving up on you than you are about who she's going to the dance with. And I think that you need to talk to Jughead. You two have been friends since you were kids, and you're about to throw that friendship away because your pride's been hurt. It's hard to find a friend who will love you enough to tell you when you're wrong, and those are the kind of friends that you need most of all. Think about it, son." And both of his parents left the room at that point, leaving Archie behind to think about it.

~~~~~*~~~~~

The Coopers had finished the family meal, and Betty had retreated to the sanctuary of her room to peruse homework, when the phone rang. She ignored it, which was standard when she wasn't expecting a call. Shortly after the phone stopping ringing, her mother knocked on the door. "Honey, it's Veronica."

Betty thought for a few seconds before picking up. Her voice sounded cold even to her own ears. "Yes?"

"Betty, it's Ron."

"I know."

"Listen, I know you're upset about Archie not going to the dance with you anymore, so let's not hash that out again. You wanna tell me what's going on with you and Needlenose?"

"It's none of your business."

"Because I really think you ought to consider what it is that you're actually doing. Going to the biggest dance of the year with the school's biggest loser – people are going to think that you're slipping, girl."

"Sounds tragic."

"Have you ever considered therapy?"

"I'm considering hanging up the phone."

"Betty, you should take my advice once in a while. Going with Archie's best friend isn't going to get back at him like you think. If you really want to make him mad, go with Reggie."

"Reggie's going with Cheryl Blossom. And I don't think that I'll be taking relationship advice from _you."_

"Well, whatever. If your social status seriously means that little to you, good luck."

"Thanks for all your help. If you don't mind, I have homework to do." She pressed the _talk_ button and set the phone down before burying herself in trigonometry.

She had hardly gotten through the last problem when the phone rang again. Without thinking, she picked it up. "Hello."

"Betty, hi. It's Ethel."

"Ethel! How are you?"

"Pretty good." This statement was punctuated with a sigh; she didn't sound as though she was doing well at all. "Hey, I heard that you and Jughead are going to the dance together."

"Ethel, wait –"

"I was just calling to say congratulations."

Betty reflected on the other girl's graciousness before answering. "It's not definite, Ethel. It might not even happen."

"Yeah, right." Ethel's voice sounded slightly more playful. "I'm so sure."

"It's a dance, Ethel. We're not going steady."

The other girl hadn't heard her. "I'm really glad for you, Betty. I mean, he's a great guy. Just –" her voice wavered, cracked – "be good to him, okay?"

"I will. I promise." There was no more talking for a few moments as Ethel sniffled into the receiver and Betty tried not to cry herself.

Ethel recovered herself shortly, and soon afterwards all conversation was at an end. Setting the phone back into the cradle, Betty tried to get a head start on her European history, but to no avail. The phone rang yet again. Despite herself, she answered. "Hello?"

"Hey, babe, it's Reg. Heard you're going to the dance with the walking garbage compactor. What's up with that? You should've just called me. I'm always willing to sacrifice my time and energy for a lady in distress."

"Reggie, cut it out."

"Also heard you got rid of Carrot Top. Good for you! But hey, if you ever wanna go on a date with a man instead of little boys, call me sometime."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Reggie." She hung up and threw the phone into a heap of stuffed animals before starting in on Louis XIV.

~~~~~*~~~~~ 

A new day started at Riverdale High with the chimes of the 8 o'clock bell. Students darted down the halls, late. Mr. Weatherbee stood near his office door, glowering at the stragglers. "Slow down, there! Next time wake up earlier."

A familiar red head was bobbing slowly down the corridor, and the principal blinked with surprise upon realizing whom it was. "Archie? Aren't you late for class?"

"Probably," came the dispirited reply. The older man frowned. "Are you sick?"

"Just tired. I didn't sleep too well."

"Well, Coach Kleats is looking for you. Get to the gym."

He went, where he found several classmates wearing ragged clothing and ready to play basketball. Reggie was there, smirking at him, and Jughead sat on the bleachers, looking completely disinterested. He decided to play with a group of guys that he had never seen before. They established a rapport that was cool, if not friendly, and they all played hard; so hard, in fact, that more than one person left class that day needing an ice pack. Archie was changing in the locker room when Reggie Mantle accosted him. "Hey, Carrot Top, saw you gettin' your butt kicked today. Maybe you shoulda played with guys that were more your speed, like the freshman squad."

"Who were those guys?" Archie asked, gingerly touching his side.

"Oh, that's right, you don't play basketball enough to know. Those were incoming varsity starters."

"Geez. They were practically tackling me."

"Like I said, you don't play basketball enough to know any better. Why didn't you play with Jughead? He's about your speed."

This was meant to be a joke, so Reggie was naturally a little startled at the look of anger that suddenly flared to life on Archie's face. "What'd I say? You two are about the same skill level, right?" He pointed through the one-way glass to where Jughead was playing a far less physical game of 'horse'.

The red headed boy didn't answer, viciously yanking on his shoes. Reggie watched him, with a sudden comprehension making him burst into laughter. "Oh, I get it! Not only are you on the outs with Bets, you're mad at Jug too! Good job, pal." He gave Archie a smack on the shoulder. The muscles tightened violently, but the other boy remained silent. "Hey, if you want my advice –"

"I don't."

"Too bad, you're gettin' it. You've got a date. And from what I hear, you dumped a date to get the one you've got. You can't be mad because the chicks at Riverdale High don't stop livin' their lives because you changed your mind."

Archie slumped back on the bench with closed eyes, knocking his head against the metal lockers. "Reggie, just go away."

"Fine, gone." Receding footsteps told him that he was alone, and he sat up to stare at his gym bag, trying to think. He knew that it wasn't fair for him to be mad with anyone, but was it unreasonable to want things to stay the same for just a little longer? Probably never again in his life would he have the opportunity to have more than one beautiful woman hanging all over him, and was it so wrong to want that?

"Good game, Jughead."

"Thanks."

Archie sat up sharply as several boys came thundering into the locker room. His former friend was among them, but he didn't want to meet the boy's eyes, didn't want to see the accusations lying just below the surface. With a long-suffering sigh, he heaved his bag over his shoulder and trudged out.


	3. Girls

During lunch, Veronica Lodge sat at the table that commanded the best view of the patio. Whether her friends ate with her or not, whether she and Archie were on an "off" week or not, she always sat there. And every now and again, she allowed others to share that table with her, usually when she was at a loss for better company: like today, for example. Archie seemed quite determined not to talk to her, and she wouldn't see Betty unless she looked for her; since the school had instituted college preparatory courses, they hadn't taken any of the same classes.

With a toss of her thick black hair, she opened up her stainless steel lunch box. Normally she wouldn't be caught dead with one of these things, but they were apparently all the rage on the east coast and she was never one to question trends, as long as she could fit them into her style and they kept her ahead of the curve. She examined the contents carefully – low fat turkey bacon with romaine lettuce and beefsteak tomatoes on lightly toasted whole wheat. Pasta salad with walnuts and spicy horseradish dressing, courtesy of the newest French chef in her father's kitchen. And within the thermos, a delicate virgin mimosa. She smiled. Lunch was served.

But midway through her lonely luncheon, she began to experience a sort of melancholy, a most unwelcome sort that forced itself upon herself in awkward moments. The unpleasant recollection of her best female friend's face yesterday lay heavy on her mind, no matter how often she pushed it away. The tear stained face, the defeated posture, and most of all, the venom in her voice…Betty got frustrated, she got ticked off, but Veronica had never seen her _furious_ – and not the spited ire of a spoilt kitten, but the quiet menace of a tigress…

"Ronnie!"

Her solitude at an end, she looked up gratefully as Midge came over and set down her tray. The girls smiled at each other: Veronica's mien held mild relief, Midge's face appeared to display vague sympathy. But neither commented on the other's fleeting expression, and after a moment's silence, Midge murmured, "Pretty day, isn't it?"

"Beautiful," Veronica answered, staring blankly into the cloudless sky. "Where's Moose?"

"Make-up exam," his girlfriend replied, mournfully. "He's such a sweet guy…but what's going to become of him if he can't even manage to get a high school diploma? No college in the nation is going to consider him for a scholarship because he did so poorly on his SATs." She sighed, stirring mushy peas into her overly salty mashed potatoes. "I suppose I'll have to get a master's degree just to keep afloat."

"You're going to marry him." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, I guess so. It's kind of weird to have your life mapped out before age eighteen, isn't it? Not even Dilton's gone that far."

"Dilton…" Veronica fluttered her long lashes in an affectation so obvious that both girls laughed, albeit shamefacedly. "He'd be cute, if he could stand to get rid of those dorky coke-bottles he calls glasses."

"Yeah…" Midge responded in a dreamy voice. "Cute as Reggie would be, if he could manage to fall out of love with himself." More laughter. "Speaking of Reggie, did you know that he's asked Cheryl Blossom to the dance? I'm surprised that she didn't slap his teeth out, let alone saying 'yes'."

"I know." They leaned in to lessen the occurrence of eavesdropping. "She'd do anything to get Archie for her date. Maybe Reggie's spending a lot of dough on her to keep her distracted."

"It doesn't make sense, though. You know, she doesn't actually _like_ Archie that much more than any other cute guy – she just wants him because he's with you. And now that the two of you have broken up –"

"Wait!" Veronica's face suddenly flushed, possibly from shame, more likely through anger. "Who said that I broke up with Archie?"

"Didn't you know? Ron, it's all over school that you and Archie are through…and you know that there's only…oh, say, about forty girls dying to step in every time the two of you part ways."

"Who's started the rumor?" Veronica's voice had taken on an ominous edge.

"Who knows? Maybe Reggie, being sneaky like always. Maybe Cheryl, trying to score points on the sly. You never know…" Midge shrugged in an offhanded manner, "could be Archie."

The brunette's visage flamed crimson. "He wouldn't do that! He knows better than to play hard to get with me…he wouldn't do that…" Her voice, broken, trailed off. Who was she trying to kid? She had dared him to leave and he had left. And she had only herself to blame.

But the stubborn pride that had been fostered as a natural result of being indulged all of her life refused to smolder out. "He didn't leave," she said in an undertone.

"Hmm?"

Startled, she remembered that Midge was still sitting there, looking puzzled. She sighed and shook her head. "I'm just mad that I'm letting Archie's stupid behavior get my goat so badly."

"I'll bet that as mad as you are, you'd be back with him in two seconds flat if you thought anyone was moving into your spot."

She bristled, but Midge remained unmoved. "Admit it, Ronnie. You're just letting your pride get the best of you, again. And if you heard that Archie was taking another girl to the dance, you'd blow up. Wouldn't you?"

"He's supposed to be taking _me."_

"He was supposed to be taking Betty, too."

Touché. Veronica winced, the blunt statement hitting home. They sat silently until the 4th period bell rang, signifying the end of the first lunch.

* * *

As Veronica hurried from the patio, she brushed past Ethel Muggs, who looked up in surprise before poring over her simple lunch of salad and bacon bits. Ever since learning that Jughead had asked Betty Cooper to the dance, she had been lost in a funk, barely able to do homework or eat. Her mother fretted, but her father chalked it up to 'adolescent blues', and for the most part she was left alone to sort out the tangled skein of her feelings. Often she wanted to weep; other times she just felt cold and numbed through. And more often than she liked to admit, she thought about Jughead's promise that another guy intended to ask her out.

God, how she'd wished it could have been him! But a small part of her, a very small of part of her, was proud that he had been able to be a man about it, that he hadn't strung her along and played on her hopes the way that Archie was notorious for. Her lips curled even as they trembled. _Betty deserved so much better than Archie…but couldn't it have been with anyone other than _him!? A cloud passed over her brown eyes and unwanted, tears sprang afresh.

"Ethel? Are you alright?"

She looked up, cheeks burning with shame. Dilton Doiley stood nearby, concern written on his earnest young face. Trying to smile for his sake, she managed a shaky little grimace. "Not really."

"I see," he said slowly. "Care for some company? Or would I be an intrusion?"

"No! Sit, please." He did, peering at her tray as he made himself comfortable. "Ethel, don't you think that you should have a little more food than that?"

"Oh…" She dismissed the entire meal with a wave of her elongated palm. "I'm really not very hungry. If I can eat that, I'll be surprised."

He took a cautious bite of the sandwich that his mother had prepared. The last time he gobbled down a lunch without checking the contents first, he found himself biting into spicy pimento loaf and salami on pumpernickel. The thought of it made him retch even now. Fortunately, today's meal was a simple p.b.j. Pleased, he ate a little more before replying. "I'm no psychiatrist, but I'd venture to say that you're depressed."

She smiled ruefully. "Maybe just a little."

"I'm sorry to hear it. Anything I can do to help?"

"Nope." He looked at her, surprised, but she hunched her shoulders sadly. "Psychiatry can't help cure heartache."

"Give it a chance. C'mon, what harm could it do? Get it off your chest."

Ethel nibbled her lip for a moment before realizing that Dilton was offering her half of his sandwich. She accepted gratefully, and began with a sigh. "You know Kenneth McGranahan, right?"

"Transfer student from Baymont High, pretty tall, good build, shoulder length wavy brown hair, green eyes. Yeah, I know him."

Her brows knit. "You seem like you know him pretty well already."

"He's in my gym class and my calc class. He's a great athlete, lousy student. The girls in my class fall all over themselves trying to get him to notice them. It's annoying as hell. But anyway, go on."

"He's in my chem class," she continued, voice wavering. "I got partnered up with him for a lab assignment. I was too dumb to see it at the time, but I did almost all of the work over a week-long assignment. All he did was get the chemicals, ask me questions and write the conclusion. And because I did almost everything for him, we got a mutual 'A'. He told me…" She stopped, collected herself and went on. "…he told me that if I ever needed a favor, to ask. And my friends…they thought that I had a crush on him because we spent so much time together in class. But I didn't. I only got close to him because I heard that he moved onto the same block as Jughead, and I went over to his house a few times during the week to see if I could catch a glimpse of Jughead. But everyone took it the wrong way…and now Jughead's probably going to the dance with Betty Cooper anyway."

Dilton nodded sagely. He had already heard the gist of this anyway, thanks to several concerned phone calls from many different people, including one that he had received the night before, urging him to do something, and soon. Leaning forward, he swallowed and inquired, "Would you go to the dance with Kenneth if he wanted to take you?"

Ethel shook her head vigorously. "Not interested."

"Would you go with someone else besides Jughead?"

She sucked in her breath slowly and sat in silence before exhaling. The pause was murder to his nerves. Finally, she chuckled slightly and answered, "Well, that depends."

"On what?" Unconsciously, his left hand began to twist his napkin into a hard knot.

She leaned in towards him with an evil smile. "On whether or not the young man in question minds going to a dance with a 5'11 girl who intends to wear heels. That…_bothers_ some guys, you know."

He was silent, blinking at her through thick lashes and thick lenses. Then, gathering every vestige of courage he had, he asked in a tiny whisper, "Ethel, will you go to the dance with me?"

She answered, but her voice was lost in the howl of the lunch period bell ringing. With a smile, she picked up her books and left the cafeteria.

Dilton sat there, stunned. He couldn't tell if she had answered him or not. Unable to make heads or tails of it, he swallowed his disappointment and sadly turned her tray around, intending to throw it away.

The sandwich half lay open-faced on the tray. She had written something in the peanut butter: _'Yes'.

* * *

_

Ms. Albertson's seventh period geography class was usually noisy. So today, when the students were quiet and sober, the teacher found herself unable to concentrate on the lesson plan. She set them to doing busywork, knowing that they would use the time to pass notes and whisper to each other. Soon enough, the room buzzed with a low racket and she began to grade tests.

Betty tapped her pen idly, staring at a lousy dot-matrix interpretation of Western Europe. The map in the book was hopelessly outdated, due to the breakup of the Communist bloc. To compensate, Ms. Albertson had printed photocopies of the latest country classifications from the Internet., and ordered the students to use that particular guide as opposed to their textbooks. She looked at Helsinki, Brussels, Prague, Istanbul and suddenly realized that she had fallen asleep. Stirring herself, she glanced around, guilty. No one had seen, so she straightened up in her chair and tried to focus. Oslo. Reykjavik. Madrid. Rome. Yaargh. A giant yawn nearly split her skull in two.

Disturbed by her own behavior, she glanced towards the doorway, eyes roaming past the clock on the wall. Only twenty minutes to go. She was about to turn back to the paper when she saw Dilton stroll by and peek in. She raised her hand to wave, when she realized that he was not looking at her. He was craning his neck, looking past her. She turned, curious, to see whom he was looking for.

Ethel was sitting a seat away from her.

Delighted, Betty hissed until she had the girl's attention, surreptitiously gesturing towards the door. She looked down, not wanting to draw notice, but as soon as the exchange had ended, she sneaked a glance at her friend's face and was thrilled to see the smile that was lighting up Ethel's cheeks. Casually, Ethel looked her way. Betty made sure to whisper.

"Did he ask?"

Ethel smiled and nodded, setting off a small explosion of giggles.

The teacher looked up, shushing the class. But the two girls couldn't completely smother their joy, and before school let out for the day, it was well established that 'Old Maid' Ethel had somehow managed to get a date to the biggest dance of the semester.

* * *

Today was a much better day than yesterday, Reggie Mantle reflected upon leaving school for the day. Classes were mild – not that he needed to worry about his classes – and every girl that stopped to watch him pass down the hall was definitely a babe. Proof positive that he was damn well irresistible. And to make matters even more delightful, he had a date lined up for every night of the week, including next Wednesday, the night of the dance. Yes, to the pronounced envy - and in some cases, outright hatred – of all his peers, he was taking Cheryl Blossom, certified sassy redhead, to the Homecoming Dance. And if he was as awesome as he thought he was, he was certainly bound to get laid at least once in this time frame, considering how much money he was spending on all of these girls. One would certainly repay him with that most precious of currencies. He chortled to himself.

"Reggie."

He frowned, reverie broken. Archie Andrews was skulking up to him. "Whaddya want, Carrot Top?"

Archie looked at him flatly, all masks removed. "I'll be brief. You're going to the Dance with Cheryl Blossom, right?"

"Yeah. You jealous?"

"You're sure? You're not going to back out of it with her?"

"We're not all like you, jerk," Reggie snarled. "Some of us believe in honoring the commitments we make to ladies."

"Spare me," Archie grumbled. "Look…would you help me get Ronnie back?"

Reggie pondered. It was terribly gratifying to see his top rival humbled in this way, begging for his help in winning over a woman that they had constantly fought for. And yet, somehow Reggie got the distinct impression that he didn't need to involve himself, for good or ill, this time around. For once, he heeded the wiser voice within. "You don't need my help, you know. You want to go to the dance with Ronnie, but she's mad at you. Just threaten to go with someone else. Once she figures that you're gonna cut her out, she'll make up real quick."

Archie shuffled his feet on the hot sidewalk. "The only girls that could push Ronnie's buttons that hard are Betty and Cheryl. And as far I can see, they're both taken."

"So take another chick anyway. And hang all over her like she's just the queen."

"Don't you think that Ronnie's just going to do the same thing with some guy, just to make me mad?"

"Guess so. Well, Red, sorry. But this time, you're on your own. Find some way to make up with her if you're so hot on taking her. But it's your bed, lie in it." And Reggie walked off towards the parking lot, a smirk twisting the corner of his handsome mouth.

As he approached his car, he saw Elena Stewart waiting nearby. She pretended to be a Goth, but her commitment stopped at the 'all black' requisite, dyed black hair and ghostly makeup. No tattered clothing for her; she was quite stylish and wore outfits that accentuated her slim figure. And she was the first date in his Palm. Reggie grinned at her and she batted her eyelashes coquettishly.

Today was shaping up to be very good, indeed.


	4. How it goes

Jughead was slowly wending his way home when he heard a quick step coming up rapidly on his rear. As he turned his head to look backwards, a silky, golden ponytail caught his eye and he stopped. "Hi, Betty."

"Hi," she replied, a radiant smile lighting her face. "Hey…normally when a guy is taking me to a dance, I try to do something nice for him, like making him his favorite dinner."

His ears visibly pricked upwards and she laughed aloud. "I figured you might like that. Wanna come over tonight? I found good recipes online for a bunch of different Chinese foods. The only one I can't make with stuff we already have in my house is wonton soup. I need the wrappers, and we don't have them."

"Betty, Betty," he said with blatant, if playful, condescension, "why didn't you just ask me? There's a pack of dry wonton skins in our house that we've yet to use, and probably never will."

"Are you serious?"

"Do I ever joke?"

This last statement earned him a light sock in the ribs and they went on their way together, merry. It was perhaps fortunate that neither of them saw the eyes of the person watching them from a distance; otherwise they might not have felt so much like laughing.

* * *

Those same eyes turned piercingly, appraisingly, towards several members of the basketball team running swiftly around the track, and locked onto one in particular. One with wavy, shoulder length brown hair. Tall. Good build. Even while running and streaming sweat, he seemed to be wearing a smug expression. Yes. He would do.

* * *

The young man in question, namely, Kenneth McGranahan, continued on his two mile run. Riverdale wasn't quite the dull burg he had been led to believe. True, most of the students were too clean cut for his taste, but the basketball players knew how to have fun, which was why he joined the team so quickly after transferring.

He had his eye on a couple of different girls around school, but since the announcement of that stupid dance, things had gone topsy-turvy and his carefully-laid plans were going to waste. He was especially bothered by the rumor that someone had asked out Ethel Muggs.

When he first came to the school and had gotten partnered with her immediately in chem lab, it struck him rather forcefully that she looked a lot like his previous girlfriend Ilya, an abnormally tall and lanky Romanian ballet dancer. And while it was entirely true that several of his friends didn't exactly find Ilya to be terribly attractive, for him she had a sweet grace all her own and he thoroughly enjoyed being with her, and they mutually respected him for it, even if they teased him about his 'skyscraper of a girlfriend'.

Her acceptance into a ballet academy six states away and his transfer to a school another two states in the opposite direction naturally hastened the relationship's demise, but they parted on good terms and continued to keep in touch. Seeing Ethel, then, on his first day of class, brought on a nauseating stab of homesickness.

He had hoped that her eagerness to come to his house during the project had meant mutual attraction, but the latest buzz around school was that she was going with someone else, and that aggravated him. Sure, 'if you need a favor, babe, just ask' was hardly the way to ask someone on a date, but he couldn't help it that he happened to be spectacularly inarticulate and chauvinistic around girls he was developing crushes on.

But rumors aren't always true, and as he finished up the last lap, he spotted her on the outdoor courts, working on her fade-away shot. If anything, he just needed to get it straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak. Pleading a sore knee to his coach as an excuse to avoid going inside immediately, he trotted her way.

She wheeled left, dodged right, and put her force behind the ball as it arched from her hands. Gorgeous technique. "Hey, Ethel."

She looked up, smiling at him as she deftly caught the ball on its second bounce. "Kenneth. Shouldn't you be drilling right about now?"

"In a minute. Hey, what's this I hear about you having a date to this dance?"

"Oh…" She turned, spun and launched another shot, but its arc wasn't as sharp, and it wobbled around the rim before reluctantly falling in. "I was asked today."

"Damn." As she ran forward and scooped up the ball, Kenneth muscled his way in and stole it, adroitly keeping it away from her as she scrambled to retrieve it. "You know, I was going to ask you this afternoon."

"I didn't know." After a few more failed steals, she faced him with hands on hips. She wasn't smiling now. "Give me the ball."

"Come get it." He dribbled near her, tauntingly. She made a quick feint, but he didn't take the bait, showing off his high level of control. "You should play ball with me, Ethel. I could help you out, show you a few moves that you could use in the games. No one on the high school circuit would be able to touch you."

"Thanks," she said crisply, before diving forward and shoving him out of the way. He kept the ball, but she made a quick spin of the move and neatly stole it away before taking off for a lay up. "You should probably go now. Your coach is giving you nasty looks."

* * *

An hour later, Kenneth emerged from the gymnasium, exhausted and sore. He had been trampled a few times in one of the most physically demanding drills, and even an ice pack couldn't soothe his ankles. But he had overcome worse; a night of sleep was really all he needed. Steeling himself against the insistent pain, he started his long walk home. 

Before he made it two blocks, a cherry red sports car pulled up by his side, revving its V8 engine just for emphasis. Reclining lazily in the driver's seat was a stunning brunette, who let her pale blue eyes roam his way coolly. When she spoke, her voice radiated 'carefully calculated casual attitude'. In other words, she was desperate for something, but not desperate enough to show it. "Need a ride?"

He slipped in, his hot skin instantly adhering to the leather seats. Trying not to squirm, he rolled the window down.

"The air's on."

"I smell."

She didn't answer, and they went on their way in silence until they reached the intersection of Palm and Corsair. "You live in Cedarwood, right?"

"Yeah."

"Where, exactly?"

"3491 Inverness."

She turned left at the next light without having to be told; apparently she was familiar with the neighborhood. "I'm going to get straight to the point. You know who I am, don't you?"

"Veronica Lodge," he answered flatly.

She sniffed. "Try not to sound so excited. Anyway, I'd like your help, if you'd be so kind to assist a lady in distress."

He didn't look at her. "That depends on what you want, _Miss_ Lodge."

"My date for the dance seems to have…put himself out of commission. I refuse to miss it, but I'm won't go alone. So I find myself needing a date on short notice. I'll be pleased to let you take me." Her voice was perfunctory, as if she was running a business meeting and didn't expect to be contradicted. He tried not to laugh at her self-importance.

After a few moments of puzzling silence, she glanced his way to make sure he'd heard, and went on: "Keep in mind this doesn't make me your girlfriend, so don't assume that you're entitled to any 'privileges' as _my _escort. And if you so much as try anything _funny_…"

"Save your breath," he cut in. "And slow down, you're about to pass my house."

"That's not a very polite way to ask." Applying the brake gently, she downshifted into neutral. "You're going to the biggest dance of the year with the most desirable girl in Riverdale and you've only been in town for a month, hardly enough time to warrant it. I'll have you know, plenty of guys all over town want to be in your shoes. You should be more gracious."

Kenneth carefully stepped out of the idling car, making very sure not to knock his swollen ankle against the curb, and leaned back in through the open passenger window, smiling frostily. "I could be more gracious, if it wasn't so clear how much you need me to keep up appearances. What's that old proverb about 'beggars being choosers', _Miss_ Lodge?"

"Shut up," she hissed through bared teeth. "And don't you mention a word of this to _anyone_, or so help me –"

"Swearing isn't necessary," he interrupted, straightening up. "Don't worry. Not a word of this…_transaction_ will pass my lips." Sneering at her outraged expression, he picked up his gym bag and went into his house.

The dust on the street was still rising by the time she was out of sight.

* * *

The grounds of Lodge Manor reverberated with the racket from Veronica's car as she swung into the massive garage, infuriated and humiliated. How dare he! The idea – the sheer magnitude of it – that any boy should be insolent enough to imply that somehow he was doing her a favor by bothering to go out with her! 

Storming into her house past the startled butler, she headed straight up to her room to sulk. Damn that boy! What had possessed her to practically offer herself to him on a silver platter – especially considering that she knew next to nothing about him besides the fact that he was really handsome and liked women with dark hair? She picked up the phone and without thinking, dialed a phone number out of habit.

* * *

Betty was busy in her own house. Jughead had shown up an hour and a half after they parted ways, bearing the promised wonton skins and a small package of roast pork especially meant for use in wonton soup. He showed her how to chop the meat finely ('for future reference') before leaving her to work on her own while he made the soup stock. This she was more than capable of doing, as she was quite familiar with cooking multiple dishes in a limited amount of time. The chicken was coated with egg and draining on paper napkins, awaiting a coating of flour and a final bath of hot oil. The rice was boiled and under cover, absorbing water and steam and fluffing nicely. The veggies would wait until last, be stir-fried quickly and added at the end. 

"It looks fantastic, Bets."

"Thanks," she answered with a grin while rummaging for teriyaki sauce and a bottle of honey. Finding them triumphantly, she looked his way. "Those wontons ready?"

"Give me two more minutes. Should I make more than twenty?"

"Twenty? Juggie, I can't eat more than five!" She tossed the chunks of poultry in a small bag and shook it to coat the meat with breading.

"I know. The rest are for me."

She laughed.

The dinner, predictably enough, was delicious. Jughead ate the bulk of the food and somehow managed to find room for multiple slices of pie before going out to the front room to watch television. Betty marveled at the boy's metabolism as she washed the dishes.

"Hey, Betty," he said, breaking the silence, "what do you want me to do with the oil?"

_I thought he was watching TV…_She turned, nearly making contact with his lips as she did so and startling herself. _Why is he standing right behind me?_ "You can pour it in a glass jar if it's cool. If it's still warm, don't bother."

Cabinets opened and closed, then there was a grunt as he maneuvered as best he could in the cramped space, carefully pouring to avoid spills. A smile broke over her face. _Archie never offered to help clean up._

He was done, putting the jar on the back on the stove and bringing the old iron pot over to the sink. "Want me to dry?"

"Sure, if you like."

Between the two of them, the kitchen was clean in record time, and Jughead offered to put away the dry dishes. She had to stop herself from hugging him delightedly. Never before would she have imagined Jughead Jones to be so considerate. But before she could act on the impulse, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

_"Betty!"_ The voice on the other end sounded positively enraged. "Would you believe that a guy that I was actually nice enough to invite to the dance had the nerve to talk to me like I was _dirt?!_ You know what, I'm about this close to giving up on men altogether –"

"Ron," Betty said, trying to hold the phone between ear and shoulder while opening the refrigerator with her left foot, "I'm kind of busy right now –"

"And to make things worse, Daddy says I can't wear Prada this year – he says that Mommy's worried that I might somehow deface it by spilling punch on it. Just because of that fool David Groenhower from last year!"

"Ron, I've got company. I'll talk to you later."

"I mean, what is the point of having so much stuff when your parents won't even let you use it? I asked them if I could wear the tiara set – you know, the crown, necklace, earrings and bracelets, I know it's an heirloom and all – and they told me that I'd have to make do with just the earrings! Don't you think –"

"Good _night_, Ron," Betty said, voice growing tense.

There was a pause, and then, "What, can't I even talk to my best friend about my problems anymore?"

"For your information, I'm about to watch a movie with my date, and I don't really want to hear about you not being able to spend your money. Why don't you call Reggie?" And without waiting for further reply, Betty hung up.

* * *

Veronica stared at the dead phone in her hands, disbelieving. Betty had just hung up on her. No one hung up on Veronica Lodge! She nearly hit 'redial', fully intending to call the girl back and really give her hell, but changed her mind and instead called Reggie – just as she had been told to do.

* * *

Her timing was wretchedly poor, once again. Reggie was also finishing up dinner, and also had a guest. She was feeling decidedly amorous, and he had no problem with that. They had retreated to his bedroom, nominally to study calc. Elena had developed some different ideas _en route,_ and now they lay on his bed, tangled and sweating.

The phone rang.

"Don't answer it," she begged.

He obliged, but as the phone continued to sound off obnoxiously, eventually he let her go, promising, "It'll only be a minute." Hitting 'talk', he growled, "Hello?"

"Well! Why is everyone in such a bad mood tonight? Anyway, Mantle, I need to talk to you."   
"Talk to me tomorrow," he snapped. "This doesn't sound too urgent." He hung up without waiting for a reply and turned back to his playful bedmate with a sensuous grin. "Where were we?"

* * *

Somewhere on the third floor of Lodge Manor, an agonized scream echoed up and down the hallway, startling one of the maids and making her drop the antique vase that she was polishing. Fortunately for her, the carpet was plush and the vase didn't crack or chip, though she spent the next ten minutes clutching her chest about it.

* * *

The movie ended on a sour note, causing Betty to frown. "Awww, they should have gotten together!"

"Sorry," Jughead shrugged. "It's supposed to be really good because it reflects real life, where people don't always work things out."

"Yeah, but it's a _movie!_ It's not supposed to be real life, it's supposed to be an escape!"

"Says you," he replied with a grin. "You want a milkshake?"

Betty clutched her stomach and groaned. "How can you still be hungry? You ate most of the dinner on your own, plus all that pie and a whole bowl of popcorn!"

"I'm a growing boy."

She laughed and stood. "You're crazy, that's what you are. Thanks for coming over."

"Thanks for having me," he said, shrugging himself innto his pullover. As soon as he emerged through the neckhole, he felt soft arms embracing him around his slim waist. Surprised, but pleased, he hugged her close, even allowing her to stroke his back, a touch that not too long ago, he would have shied away from.

They released each other with reluctance, and Jughead found himself walking backwards to stare at her as he left in a complete daze.

It was true.

He was falling for Betty Cooper.

It was too good to be true.

That was why he was startled, but otherwise unsurprised, when he walked a block by himself before running straight into Archie Andrews.


	5. A dignified late night chat

"What are you doing here?"

Jughead shrugged. "I live around here. What are _you_ doing here?"

"I live around here too."

"You live next to me," Jughead pointed out sensibly. "You're going the wrong way."

"Fine, I'll turn around."

They walked together, silently.

"Where were you going, Archie?"

"I wanted to see Betty."

Jughead stopped. Archie stopped as well. There was an uncomfortable lull.

"Why?"

No answer. Jughead continued on, and Archie tagged behind. After about fifteen steps, they both stopped again.

"Do I need a reason to see a friend?" Archie spoke as if they had been talking all the while. "I wanted to see her. No more. No less." His voice was deceptively placid, but his posture looked quite defensive. Almost as if he was steeling himself for a blow.

"What time is it, Archie?"

"Huh?"

"Since when do you visit your female friends at 10:30 at night?"

"You wouldn't know; you never hung out with girls much, to my knowledge."

They walked, reaching the intersection of Grove and Strawfield in time to catch the red light. There were no cars about, but both boys had had the lesson about crossing against the light drilled into their heads too hard. They stood on the sidewalk, staring across the empty street.

"I don't know why you're acting like this," the redheaded boy finally said, blowing a cloud of steam from sheer frustration. "You're acting like the two of you are a couple or something. It's just a date to the dance. You said so yourself. What's so wrong about me going over to see her?"

Jughead didn't look at him as the light turned and they crossed. "You don't go see another guy's date at her house at 11 at night, _Arch._ Unbreakable rule number 26."

Archie blanched. That had been part of a stupid list that the guys in the locker room read from a men's magazine. It was supposed to be for laughs. So Jughead had actually been listening to that conversation... He tried to answer calmly, but his anger got the best of him once again. "You're not her boyfriend!"

"Neither are you!" Jughead blazed right back. "You've been a real dickhead when it comes to how you treat Betty for entirely too long, and I for one am tired of it. She deserves more, and you know it, so don't come crawling back now that she's moved on."

"Moved on…?" Archie asked, incredulous. "What kind of drugs are you on? Taking a girl to one dance doesn't automatically give you dibs on her for now and ever more! In case you've forgotten, you hate girls, remember?"

"And in case you've forgotten, which you obviously have, you've continually broken this particular girl's heart so many times in a row that she's ready to give up on love." Jughead stepped backwards, bristling. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to her, Archie? Do you ever think about how much you hurt her when you lie to her and break your promises time after time? Does it enter your head while you're kissing Veronica that Betty is at home crying because of you?" He looked at his watch. "I've got to get home. It's too late to be arguing about something any fool could see."

He walked on. And Archie followed.

They reached Jughead's house first. The taller boy went up the steps, unlocked the door and went in. A few moments later, he opened it again. "Are you just going to stand out there in the cold?"

"Tell me something, O bastion of female intuition," Archie said through chattering teeth. "How would _you_ feel to learn that about half of the time, who you're going to date has already been decided for you because you're actually the pawn between two women who enjoy competing for nearly everything? How would _you_ like to know that these same two women, both of whom tell you that they love you, actually resort to flipping a coin for you, and how you feel doesn't matter? How about every time a major social event comes along, you get to be the rope in their tug-of-war? It gets _old_, Jug. And I assure you, I've hurt Veronica just as many times as I've hurt Betty. And I can't 'just choose' either of them, because neither one of them was ever ready to give me up before."

He scuffed his sneakers on the pavement. "Honestly, Jug, I was kind of…glad…Betty did what she did, because it means that the triangle is finished. But I'm not glad that I had to hurt her to do it. I was going over there to apologize."

The boys eyed each other, warily. The wind, taking a turn for the worse, blew harshly, forcing Archie to hunch down into his junior varsity jacket.

Abruptly, Jughead's crown was torn from his head and tossed down the street. While he clapped his hands to his head in surprise, Archie dashed off, returning shortly with the lost cap. He offered it to Jughead silently, and just as wordlessly, Jughead took it, firmly planting it back onto his head.

They stood there for another few moments before Jughead finally closed the front door and sat down on the top step, wearily patting it for Archie to sit down. And Archie did.

They stared out over the street which had no movement; all decent people were in bed already. Overhead, a red-eye flight roared to the west.

"Why are you doing it?"

"Doing what?"

"You swore you hated women. There are girls all over school with their hearts broken by some stupid guy. Why be the knight in shining armor this time?"

"Because she's not some random girl, she's my friend."

"But you're not doing it because you actually like _her._ You're trying to help her out. You're going out with her under false pretenses."

"No." Jughead tried to straighten, but found it was more trouble than it was worth. "We were honest with each other. I know that I'm her pity date. In fact," he yawned, suddenly drowsy, "we mutually agreed that we would only go with each other if we couldn't find someone better suited."

"Really?" Archie wondered. "If you're this disinterested, why bother at all?"

"Dunno," Jughead shrugged. "Morbid curiosity, I guess."

Archie stood and dusted himself off. "If you say so." He walked away, but turned back with a parting shot. "But no guy defends a woman's honor by fighting with his best friend if he doesn't really care." He was out of sight before Jughead could think fast enough to respond.

Beaten, the boy slumped against the wrought-iron railing. _Do I really care about her? Or am I just overreacting and calling it a crush? Does she care about me? Or am I a rebound?_

The temperature continued to drop steadily, but it was a long time before Jughead noticed it sufficiently to go inside.


	6. Gossip

School began anew at 8, much to the dismay of people who had been partying just a little _too_ hard the night before – in the style of the nearby college town, the weekends in Riverdale actually started on Thursday. Mr. Weatherbee frowned as the late students tore through the halls, practically mowing others down. "Slow down, would you! You're going to cause an accident –" But noise from the east wing distracted him from these would-be sprinters. Making a mental note to find out exactly who these chronically late students were, he moved in the direction of the disturbance.

It turned out to be several members of both varsity basketball teams in a screaming match with the entire track team. What they were all fighting over was incomprehensible – both groups were shouting far too loudly to be understood – but Mr. Weatherbee had learned from years of experience that it was more effective to punish immediately and apologize later. Raising his voice over all others, he proclaimed, "All of you have detention today. Three forty-five, sharp."

Several students bolted, knowing that the older man couldn't recognize them from behind, but others, shamed into compliance, hung their heads and slunk off, silently bemoaning the loss of an afternoon. The principal stood there, tapping his foot impatiently, until everyone cleared the hallway and went to whatever class they were late for today. It was probably some nonsense over this latest social. God only knew how much he hated school dances.

* * *

When Archie made it to class, he found his usual seat was taken, which meant he had to sit farther to the back than even he liked. Slumping into a back row seat, he tried to focus on Professor Flutesnoot's lecture of the properties of inert gases, but found that doodling in his notebook was equally as unproductive and much more fun. The students near him were whispering.

"…did you hear about Veronica Lodge?"

"What?"

"She's so desperate, she asked a guy she didn't even know to go to the dance with her. God. For someone with so much money and class, she's got practically no dignity."

Archie's immediate impulse was to jump into the conversation, but he squashed it. As far as he was concerned now, Ronnie was a non-entity. He had broken off with her. If she wanted to go to the dance with some other guy – some guy that she apparently didn't know – some guy that she had likely chosen for his looks – some guy that probably looked better than him – that was fine.

His ears burned, matching his hair. Up front, the Professor droned on.

The two gossips kept on, but they had found a new subject for their malice, and Archie soon lost track of whom they were speaking. He began to write down a little of what the Professor was saying. Neutrons and electrons and protons and shared atoms and…what? He found a momentary distraction from class work by watching a blonde ponytail in the second row, watching it bob up as the girl took dutiful notes, watching it flip to the side as she cast flirtatious looks at the pointy crown two seats away.

Damn it all, why did life have to be like this? Why was he watching his best female and male friends make googly eyes at each other? Why was he begging his class rival to help him get back a girl that he wasn't even sure he really wanted? Why was he tripping over his own feet every way he turned?

His watch read 9:32. Only six more hours of this torture. And then it could begin again tomorrow.

* * *

At 10:45, Veronica strutted into class, late. Every click of her new Italian leather pumps echoed loudly in the quiet room, and though people rolled their eyes and smirked at each other when she struggled into the cramped desk (her miniskirt was made of the same fabric as her shoes), no one directly in her line of sight dared to look her way. Miss Grandison said nothing to her, having learned through word-of-mouth that it was generally best to avoid confrontations with Miss Lodge over her habitual tardiness, and gamely began U.S. History, picking up with the purchase of Alaska, and the sound of murmuring began soon after, people whispering to each other, and passing notes, which was standard classroom behavior.

Miss Grandison wasn't much older than many of her students, and being a good-natured sort of teacher, she didn't mind a certain amount of inattention. However, she had limits, and she certainly didn't like seeing notes go back and forth in the middle of class. So as she continued her lecture on William H. Seward's most noteworthy accomplishment, she walked down the aisle and snatched away a scrap of paper from Kate Hunt, who flinched and sank down in her seat.

"…when Congress approved the purchase and allocated the funds, the entire Alaskan territory…" As she read the note, she looked sharply at Veronica, who was daydreaming, quickly scanned the lines again, stifled a chuckle and crushed the paper in her palm. "…the entire Alaskan territory was sold for $7.2 million dollars, or the rate of two cents per acre." The class acknowledged this information with astonishment, except for Veronica, who was examining her nails. "Miss Lodge, care to pay a little more attention? You already seem to be the subject of some interesting news, but it won't help you on next week's test, and you might need to make a passing grade this time."

Veronica stared the teacher down, practically challenging her with a glance. "I'm listening."

"I appreciate it," Miss Grandison said tersely, reaching for the forgotten textbook on her desk. "Now, in later years, this acquisition would be seen as the greatest achievement of Seward's term of office, but at the time, it was widely considered to be an enormous error…"

* * *

Betty was headed to the first lunch period at 11:50, hoping that Ms. Beazley had prepared something better than her bland version of meatloaf. No such luck. The white pasteboard 20 yards in front of the glass door proudly stated _Thursday's lunch: Meatloaf. Also available: hamburgers, pizza._ She sighed. Tomorrow would likely be fish sticks. Maybe she would do better to bring her own lunch.

"Why so glum? You haven't even eaten the stuff yet," a voice called.

Jughead was coming out of the noisy lunchroom, right hand firmly wrapped around a huge cup. Ever since the school caved in to popular pressure and installed a Slushie dispenser in the cafeteria, Jughead had almost single-handedly paid for the cost of the machine by purchasing cup after cup of colored ice. Today was no exception.

Betty smiled at him. "You're going to be late for class."

He grinned back, displaying red teeth. "Everyone's late today. Didn't you hear about that big fight in the hall this morning? The Bee put all of the varsity basketball team and the whole track team in detention because they were all late for class. Most of them won't bother to go, of course -"

"The basketball team? Juggie, that means Ethel!" Betty looked worried. "Oh, we were supposed to go dress shopping tonight too! Her parents don't let her go out when she's in trouble…"

"Oh." Jughead sipped his drink while Betty chewed her lower lip. It was an unconscious motion, and made her look very cute. At least he thought so.

"I'll have to work something out…wait! You're about Ethel's size…you're the same height, maybe the same shape…"

"What?"

"You could go with me!" she squealed. "You could try the stuff on for her!"

"Betty, _no…"_ But she was already excitedly rambling about the store that they would go to and that it wouldn't take very long to try the stuff on and how they would have to make sure that whatever they really liked matched the shoes that Ethel already had, because she couldn't afford to buy brand-new ones just for this dance…

Was this was it meant to have a girlfriend? Jughead recalled all the dopey things that Veronica and Betty had both talked Archie into doing over the years. And he had always done them, no matter how much he initially complained. Jughead had never understood why before today.

Now he understood.

"…so you'll come, right, Juggie?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "Sure."

"Oh, you're so sweet!" And before he could collect himself, she had pulled his head down to meet her own as the 'end of lunch' bell rang.

There was only a 10-minute break between the first and second lunch, but that was more than enough time for the news to be spread all over school that Jughead Jones was seen kissing Betty Cooper, in front of God and everybody, right outside the lunchroom. And he had _thrown away_ a soda to do it.

* * *

At 1:15, Reggie Mantle left third lunch earlier than usual. His fourth date wanted to meet him – "near the stadium" was the sum of the text message on his phone. With a grin and a quick check of his breath, he sauntered out that way, reveling in the attention that his arrogance inevitably attracted.

Several cute girls flirted with him as he passed, and he gave them cursory acknowledgement, but right now his mind was on Drew Bradshaw, a sassy, sexy black girl who liked her braids long and her men horny. And if she was at the stadium, he was there too.

"Mantle!"

Coach Clayton was accosting him as he crossed the track. "Do you have any idea why every one of my players is scheduled for detention today? Including my son, who happens to be out of town?"

"No, sir, I don't," Reggie answered and kept walking. The coach turned back, muttering in a harsh tone about "these sorry administrators," and Reggie went on, stopping just outside the south end zone. And under the bleachers was Drew, wearing a painted-on cheerleader's uniform and a sly smile.

* * *

Dilton was just finishing his physics lab as the final bell of the day sounded off. Normally he did the labs in less than half the time allowed, but today he was preoccupied with thoughts of his date on Saturday. He still couldn't believe that Ethel had said "yes." But then again, this one dance seemed to be throwing the entire school into turmoil. If Riverdale's premier on-again, off-again couple had really called it quits, all the rules were different. Who could have foretold that Betty's decision to abandon Archie would result in five miniature catastrophes all around school and a wave of gossip that had yet to subside?

Three of the girls at the lab table behind him were complaining about the news from the morning, that there had been a mass detention issued against the track team. "It's those stupid basketball morons. They're the ones who should have gotten in trouble."

"They _did,"_ a different voice answered.

"Yeah, but now Marty has to stay, and he was supposed to help me with my homework. I can't do this crap on my own."

"What was the entire team fighting for?" a third voice chimed in, which was what Dilton wanted to know. If he had to hear their frivolous conversation, he might as well know what was going on.

"Somebody from the basketball team and somebody on the track team asked out the same guy. And of course if the girls' team is involved, all the guys come along for the ride, so there was, like, 50 people fighting over something that only involved two of them."

"Didn't the Bee give everyone in the hall a detention?"

"You know most of them won't show…" But that was as much as Dilton needed to hear to start packing his stuff. Chances were that his date was on her way to Room 331. And if she was, he wanted to catch her first.

Luck was not on his side. Even running, he got there too late; the door was closed and the proctor was passing out paperwork to the 20-odd students who had felt enough guilt to attend. There was no way to get Ethel's attention from the hall, so he did what any desperate lover would do – he went outside, hoping to catch her eye from the window.

But heaven help him, when he managed to get her in sight from outdoors, who should be sitting next to her other than Kenneth McGranahan?


	7. 3

_Damn it._

Dilton squinted in frustration, breath coming in quick pants. Ethel wasn't looking up. He didn't dare rap the glass. _Damn it…_

"Hey!" The rent-a-cop was coming his way, flimsy night stick in hand. "What're ye peepin' at, son!"

With reflexes that Kenneth himself might have envied, Dilton swept up his overloaded backpack with one arm and ran, leaving the overweight guard panting in his wake and shouting uselessly.

* * *

The racket outside barely penetrated Ethel Muggs' cocoon. The detention monitor, after reading off names of students who had never before crossed her path, determined that this afternoon was an anomaly and allowed her charges to talk to each other as long as their voices remained low. Most of the class took advantage of this leniency; she, odd one out as usual, read a book.

"Ethel," a voice behind her murmured. She knew what would come of listening, and he didn't want it. Deliberately, she turned the page.

"Ethel," the voice said in a slightly louder tone. Mrs. Denford looked up with a frown, and a head of wavy brown locks shrank back abashed. The other students noted this failure and tittered.

Kenneth sulked for a moment or two before scribbling furiously on a scrap of paper and cautiously nudging Ethel's arm. Several pairs of eyes watched for her reaction; fingers hovered above cell phone keypads, ready to type shorthand gossip. No matter what she did, it would be all over school in no time flat.

* * *

Betty waited until the salesclerk's back was turned—it didn't take very long—and smuggled Jughead into the deserted dressing room with a whole assortment of dresses to try on. She already knew that Ethel preferred slinky lounge singer numbers to fairy-tale ballgowns, but part of her hoped that she might find the perfect dress hidden and unwanted on the sale rack, an unassuming combination of satin and taffeta that would transform her meagerly-proportioned friend into a true _tour de force_ and force all of the boys to helplessly witness what they had missed in passing her up. The other, more mischievous side simply wanted to see Jughead in a goofy prom outfit.

"What are you going to wear?" he asked as she carefully sorted the dresses amongst the cubicle's five hooks.

"… hmm? Probably something midnight blue. Mom found a beautiful corset and she's working layers of netting back into the skirt. I thought that it would be cheaper for me to simply buy a new dress, but she's just determined to get this one together for me." She smiled affectionately. "I'm sure it'll be beautiful, but I wish she wouldn't give herself so much trouble. But she's a mother and that's what they do." She held up the gold lamé with the Grecian neckline and high waist. "Why don't we start here?"

Betty, as usual, had been quite right in pointing out that his physique was very similar to Ethel's, and they had both admired the cut and fit of the Grecian dress. The plunging neckline was daring, but hardly racy; built for a small bust, it was designed to show off breastbone more than breast. The cinched waist was perfectly suited to minimize a long torso, which Ethel had in abundance; the redundancy of shimmering pleats accentuated long, slim legs. Betty looked in the three-way mirror, eyes locked on his body as he shuffled into the fabric. "My god. I can't believe it. It's … it's perfect." And then her gaze drifted down to his dirty sneakers, back up to his red face, spiky hair, and crooked crown, and they had both laughed.

"So we can go, right?"

"Well, no … let's do a few more. Maybe we'll see something else that really works."

But so far the _something else_ had failed to materialize, it was growing late and Jughead was starting to nod off a bit. At his last count, they were on dress twenty-three, and none had fit quite so suitably as the very first one.

There was a subtle pressure against his lips, one that was unfamiliar, but not at all unwelcome. By the time he actually woke up, he was holding Betty very close and her eyes were closed and her ponytail was a mess and the store intercom was blaring that the store would be closing in fifteen minutes. Please bring your purchases to the nearest sales counter.

* * *

Veronica Lodge lay idly on a silken champagne-colored divan, some new ergonomic wonder from Scandinavia. It was supposed to help her father with his mildly arthritic back. He sat down once, rose immediately and found better things to do with his time, such as driving his Alfa-Romero. The sofa was tossed into an unused sitting room and forgotten until Miss Lodge found it and decided that it complemented her room. It didn't, but none of the servants were foolish enough to risk her wrath, and the heavy couch was dutifully carried upstairs and arranged just so near the foot of the canopy bed.

Her cell phone was ablaze with messages, all of them vague. _OMG! Ronnie, call me … it's about ur man! Ron, tlk 2 ur d8 … he's a slut! _Who knew what that meant. She cleared the inbox and yawned. There was probably homework or something she could be doing … but Tivo beckoned with promises of soap operas and lurid love triangles—

She snorted, sourly amused at herself. Why, here she was in the middle of one of the worst love triangles she had ever seen, except everyone was refusing to play their part!

**Beep!**_ Girl u better check ur guy he's tlking 2 some1 else!_

Her fingers lingered on the phone. She could call Archie … say something vaguely resembling an apology … and it would all be over and done with. But that would require some degree of humility. And she hadn't felt less humble in her life. Besides, the one she wanted to break was _Betty. _

She closed the phone, disconnecting the call. Archie could stew in his own juice for a while. Maybe he'd think twice before daring to try something like this again.

* * *

"Hello?" Mary Andrews shook her head at the dead signal. "What's with these kids nowadays? Was that one of your friends playing around on the phone?"

"What friends?" Archie asked bitterly.

She didn't answer immediately, busy with ladling soup into three bowls—"Fred, dinner!"—and placed one in front of Archie, feeling an ache at heart when he didn't even make a move towards it. "Do you mean to say that you still haven't made up with Jughead? Archie, honestly. What's wrong with you? You've never been this upset over a dance."

"What's wrong? What's wrong?" He slumped even further into his seat. "What's wrong is that I can't stop thinking that it's not just a dance anymore. Somehow, this dance is taking over my whole life. Over _all_ of our lives. Before, it always felt like a game. Now, it feels like it's for keeps."

"Maybe some of you are growing apart," Fred Andrews said, carefully wiping his moustache. "It's not unusual for people to outgrow their friendships and their relationships as they age. Or maybe," and he looked at his son pointedly, "this is your smarter side telling you that you're not going to have too many friends for much longer if you don't change the way you treat them."

"I knew you were going to say that."

"Well, if you want me to stop, do something about it and stop dragging around the house like a spoiled brat. If you're not going to eat, go to your room."

Archie went, silently sitting on his bed and staring at the phone, which hadn't rung for him for days. His powder-blue tuxedo hung in its dry-cleaning bag on the closet. He couldn't stand to look at it.

Simple decisions, really. Little things here and there had started this. A careless decision to switch dates at the last minute. A little lie to get him out of one girl's house and over to the other's. Foolish flatteries and broken promises. How could he have known that payment would be due, and so soon?

_Keep your date, Ronnie._ They were words he had never thought he'd heard. And he never imagined how much they could hurt. Or how a sweet pair of blue eyes could flay him alive with a glance. Or how much he had come to rely on his best friend's presence, and how much he might suffer without it.

He looked at the phone again.

And then he finally called Betty.


	8. 2

"... hello?"

"May I speak to Betty?"

"Speaking. Who's this?"

... oh, that hurt. There wasn't an ounce of sarcasm in her voice. She really had no clue whom she was speaking with. Archie tried to sound cheerful, but even he could hear how dead his voice was. "It's Archie." He didn't even feel how tightly his stomach had knotted on itself until he heard the faint echo of pages rustling. She was studying as usual. Her life was going on. As usual.

He took a slow breath. "What's up?"

"Not much." There was no coldness in her tone, no wariness, no anger. But likewise there was no welcome, no friendliness. He might have been talking with a complete stranger—no. She treated complete strangers more kindly than this. "What's going on? Do you need help with the homework from class?"

Homework ... every assignment this week was either stuffed in his locker or crammed in his backpack, forgotten. He laughed weakly. "For once, no. Do you have time to talk?"

"Not really. I have a test on Friday."

"How about time to listen?"

He could hear her notebook snap shut. "Ten minutes, and then I've got to get back to Charlemagne."

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. He had become used to dealing with Betty and Veronica while they were on an emotional high or low, and her wooden tone frightened him. Trying to appeal to her at this point was eerily similar to pleading for mercy from the Bee, who didn't respond well to repeat offenses from the same person either. He had learned the hard way that the best way to get out of trouble fast was to admit what he had done was wrong, and not to make any excuses. But the awkwardness of the situation was so overwhelming that his stomach cramped again miserably, and the words went unspoken.

On the other end of the line, Betty waited in silence.

They sat there, one not speaking and the other unable to, until Betty finally said, "For someone who called to talk, you're doing a pretty bad job."

"I know. I just ... I never called anyone to have a talk like _this._ I feel like I'm going to my own execution."

"Are you going to talk?"

_Fools rush in where angels fear to tread ..._ but at this point prudence was a non-issue. Time to spit it out. "I don't have an excuse. I said I would go to the dance with you, and I broke that promise. I'm sorry, Betty. I'm sorry for hurting you."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Archie, do you have any idea how many dates you've broken with me? How many dances I've missed because I was too ashamed to go there and see you on Veronica's arm? How many times I've turned other guys down to go out for the evening, only to sit at home alone because you stood me up? Of course you don't. Why be sorry now? Just go to the dance with Ronnie and forget about it."

"I'm not going with her."

There was a deadly pause before Betty said "You're not?" Her voice was incredibly still, but it was the calmness of ice splintering.

"I guess you could say I got a taste of my own medicine. Actually, I got the whole damn bottle. We're done."

"For now."

"No, we're done."

"Archie, you were done with her every week, remember? And on the weeks you weren't done with her, she was done with you. It'll never end. Maybe you like endless drama, but I'm getting tired of it. Going to have a milkshake with you shouldn't start a week of fighting between me and her. You going to dinner with her shouldn't be a reason for her to toss her hair in my face. If the two of you want to break up and make up until the end of high school, go for it. I just don't want to be part of it anymore. Okay?"

"So are you going with Jughead?"

"That doesn't have anything to do—"

"It does when I'm asking you to the dance."

Another loaded silence. Archie switched the receiver to his left hand—painfully, as he had been holding it so hard that the right one had cramped.

"Archie, what are you doing?"

"I ..." Had things really changed this much? The old Betty would have been bawling into the phone by now. "I'm trying to make things right. I'm trying to do what I should have done and go to the dance with you."

"But why? Why this time? Why this one and only time, when I'm ready to move on? Why couldn't you come back to me begging and pleading any of the hundreds of times I wanted you back?"

"Because I knew you would forgive me before," he blurted out, earning himself yet more silence. He took the phone away from his face to wipe the sweat from the earpiece and noted with some relief that they had been connected for over 12 minutes. It was a given that Betty was aware of the time, so at least she wasn't hanging up on him. "Because I knew that even if we couldn't work it out any other way, at least our friendship could survive. But now, I'm not sure if that's going to make it either. And that scares me, because you're one of my best friends. Seriously. Whenever I'm having a problem, don't I come straight to you? Don't you know just about everything about me, what I'm scared of and what I want to do later in life and all my dirty secrets? Don't you know stuff about me that even my parents don't know?"

"Call me crazy, but best friends appreciate each other's friendship without dumping on each other just because they expect forgiveness. Look ... oh, man, I'm late. I'm getting off the phone—"

"Betty, you mean so much more to me than this dance. Could you at least forgive me?"

"You're forgiven. Now I have to go."

"Just one more thing—are you going with Jughead?"

"Good night, Archie."

* * *

Jughead was too busy trying to decide between the "everything" breakfast bagel and a fancier, more expensive pastry to notice the line behind him, but the café's cashier saw the irritable people and groaned. Every time this guy came in, he stood there for nearly ten minutes, trying to "decide" between the two daily specials. Then he ultimately just bought both items anyway, leaving her to face the wrath of the other impatient customers. She tried to prod him along. "Erm, sir, don't you just want them both? As usual?"

"Dunno," Jughead mumbled. "What kind of fruit did you say was in the pastry?"

"Strawberries, idiot," a voice shouted from the line. "Just like it says on the sign. Hurry up, some of us have jobs to go to!"

"How rude," Jughead said with a _tsk_ of disapproval. "Here, I'll have the bagel. And ... the pastry. Two of 'em."

He left the counter with pastry in mouth, oblivious to the dirty looks he was getting. So oblivious that he didn't even see who tripped him, but quite suddenly he found himself stumbling out of the door, his food flying everywhere. Behind him, several people laughed, and one rather large woman leaned against the exit, shutting him out of the store. It took him a minute to register the scrapes on his palms and the bagel, cream-cheese-side down in the dirt. The pastries were a total loss too; he had stepped on one while falling. The second had fallen victims to pigeons. "Great. All I need now is some rain."

But instead of rain, a hand reached out to help him up.

He hesitated, wondering if it was one of those jackass customers coming to rough him up. But the moment he saw the familiar powder-blue leather sleeves of a letterman's jacket, he relaxed. There was only one jacket in town stained with the grass from the football field, clay from the baseball diamond, and chalk dust from the track. "Hey, Archie."

"Hey. Lost your breakfast, huh? Wanna share some of mine?" He handed over a greasy sack full of hot muffins. "Help yourself, you probably want 'em more than I do."

They went a block in silence before Archie blurted out, "I talked to Betty last night."

Jughead swallowed audibly.

"Jug, ol' pal, I think you got yourself a date."

They walked another block just as quietly.

"You don't seem too happy," Archie observed.

"I guess I didn't imagine it coming to this," Jughead admitted. "Things always seemed to work out before ... it's kind of weird when you get the feeling that something might be over and done for keeps. Plus, I really don't know how I feel about trying to date a friend. Doesn't seem to work out too well for anyone."

"Well," Archie said, "the dance is in two days and as far as anyone knows, she's going with you. Take some advice from a guy who's been there. You better not stand her up."

Jughead nodded, wondering in the back of his mind if that was advice so much as a threat. But nothing else was said as they trudged on towards Riverdale High.


End file.
